I wanted to find my niche. I wanted to fit so badly with some group, any group in high school. Sports didn’t really work for me. In fact, I dreaded those times in PE when the captains picked teams. Fights sometimes happened between captains about who would have the misfortune of ending up with me on their team. But one day, I saw a girl I liked go into the marching band office to sign up. Okay, sure, the uniforms looked stupid and being in the band didn’t exactly give you the best reputation at school, but there was Jaclyn. I would later learn that many of the greatest musicians of our time were motivated to music by some girl whose name they most likely don’t remember anymore.
The first thing to learn was how to hold the drum and play it. Holding the drum and playing it is not as easy as it might look. I did, after several private lessons, learn the rhythm. Next, as if that weren’t difficult enough, I had to learn how to play it while not only walking, but marching. At the end of the summer, our uniforms arrived. The band uniform is a sacred attire. It is not only carefully sized to fit the individual, long-sleeved and hand sewn, acquired through a lot of fund raising activities, and cleaned after each use. It is worn with pride. It is also 100 percent wool.
I forgot to mention something. In addition to an inability to play sports, I was also not so good at marching. If you were not in step, the band director would yell in a loud and embarrassingly annoyed voice, “OUT OF STEP!” It was at that point that I began to question my decision to join the band. How do playing music and marching around in silly formations, all “in step”, go together?
The day of our first competition finally arrived. Although it didn’t start until 9 a.m., we had to meet at 6 a.m. to get our uniforms from the “band boosters” – those selfless, dedicated parents who provided comfort and assistance to the members of the band. I was not really in existence. I could walk and talk, but inside my brain was fast asleep. I was standing around waiting for my hat to be cleaned when I noticed a big container of coffee. I poured myself a cup – my first-ever cup of coffee. It tasted pretty bitter, but I had to wake up.
Finally, they lined us all up and off we went. I had had my coffee, so I marched and beat the rhythm out with all my heart. Then, suddenly all my energy drained away. I began to feel sleepy and I fell “OUT OF STEP.” No one noticed at first and I tried to skip back into step. But nothing worked. Then I saw one of the band boosters talking to another one and pointing at me. Then they motioned for me to leave the formation. I walked over to them as the band marched on. They told me what I already knew, I was “OUT OF STEP”, and would have to stay out of the formation until the band passed the judging stand.
I couldn’t believe it. Now I had to climb over the lawn chairs, popcorn and arms and legs of my fellow townspeople for the next mile to keep up with the band, carrying my drum and wearing my uniform. This was the most humiliating moment of my life. |